


No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

by DancingInTheDark85



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29884008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingInTheDark85/pseuds/DancingInTheDark85
Summary: After the Battle of the Holme, Wessex and Mercia are enjoying a time of peace, that is until Finan comes across a group of Norse slavers and can't help but intervene. Can Uhtred and his friends correct our hotheaded Irishman's mistakes? Or will the Saxon kingdoms be thrown into war once more?
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress and as such I'm not quite sure where our band of rogues may take us, therefore the warnings might be subject to change but it won't be anything worse than is on the show. Except for the swearing, because I don't really think that arseling is the strongest word any of our boys know.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to leave a comment, you never know, it might get me to write faster.

Chapter 1

It was the end of a long, hot, lazy summer and Mercia and Wessex were enjoying another year of uneasy peace. Osferth had been enjoying the quiet. He never quite had come to terms with taking the life of another, and though he would follow Uhtred to the end of the Earth, if he never had to raise his sword again he would be happy. He was not the only one, Sihtric was enjoying spending time as a father and watching his children grow, and Uhtred had taken to spending his days sneaking in and out of the Lady Æthelfæd’s chambers, spending more time in Saltwic and Ægelesburg than at Coccham. For Finan though, peacetime had him bored stupid and a bored Finan could only spell disaster.

The Irishman had seemed to enjoy the peace at first, he had finally fixed the thatch on his modest little house and had a reasonably impressive vegetable garden growing out the front. But that had taken him all of a week, and since then he’d taken to pacing like a chained dog. It wasn’t as though they’d abandoned him, but perhaps it felt a little that way to the man, who was so used to being among his brothers that he seemed to be at a loss with his own company. They all met regularly to train and at the alehouse at least a few nights a week, if they didn’t then Finan would come and kidnap them until they were good and drunk. The consensus among his friends was that he needed a woman, but despite their insistence, Finan just laughed his friend’s concerns off and pretended he was happier with his freedom. 

Osferth was fairly sure they wouldn’t be where they were now if Finan had found a woman. He’d reluctantly left Uhtred and Sihtric to their domestic bliss, but poor Osferth had no excuses to avoid the other man’s frustrated restlessness. Finan had dragged the poor former monk all over Wessex and Mercia, scouting and checking the border posts. There had never been any reports of trouble, but in a small way, it at least gave them something to do, which apparently Finan needed more than a comfortable bed and three hot meals a day. But now they found themselves lying in the long grass on a hillside outside Glowecaestre looking down on the river and preparing to find trouble.

“They are definitely the slavers,” Finan said darkly, as though that was all the argument he needed.

“And their slaves are a Welsh problem, not ours,” Osferth replied with a wince. He knew it was a poor excuse, one that wouldn’t ease Finan in the slightest, but it was also the truth. He was right. 

“Well when Ragnar and Hild came to us on that bloody beach, it’s a good thing they just didn’t see me as an Irish problem!” he snapped. He shifted awkwardly, when they had first spotted the three slave ships, Finan had kicked out their fire and thrown himself flat to the ground, his hip landing on the hilt of his sword. Osferth had followed suit, though he was sure now the fire was out they were unlikely to be seen in the dusky light regardless. And if they were seen, what then? Osferth doubted they would be seen as a risk by the slavers, except Finan’s heart was thudding so loudly it was as though he was already in a shield wall.

“We are two men against at least ten,” Osferth continued to reason. “And our actions will shake the peace and bring war again to Mercia and Wessex.” This was the real reason for his worry, aside from the fact the odds were suicidal, they ran the risk of something much greater.

“Well, then we’d better leave no evidence it was us,” Finan growled.

Osferth wished Uhtred was there with them to talk some sense into him. He could feel this going wrong, but Finan was too angry to see it and Osferth never had been good at bending anyone to his will. He said nothing more, but his hesitation hung between them, straining at the bonds of their friendship. “Uhtred would not want you to risk peace this way.”

They were laid about a foot from each other and Finan wouldn’t look at him, he would give up his focus on the approaching boats, but Osferth felt every muscle in his friend tense, “Uhtred would want to free the slaves as much as I,” he said coldly. “He would want to disembowel every man who ever took another as property, as I do.”

Osferth wasn’t sure that was true, after all, Uhtred had first become a slave aged nine, and somehow along the way, his master had become a father to him. “Once maybe, but he has learned to be less impulsive with age.”

“Fine. I’ll go alone, and when I die you can go back to Uhtred and tell him I died righting an injustice.” Finan leapt to his feet and took off before Osferth could stop him. The man raced down the hillside, keeping to the tree line so he couldn’t be seen. Osferth chased after him, wishing they had a plan. The water’s edge was lined with thick reeds and soon they were crouched down in the mud at the water’s edge, awaiting the boats to approach their position.

“Finan, this is folly!” Osferth said again. “How are we to stop them?”

“The boats are a few miles away, we have some time.” He reached first the reeds and teased them between his fingers. “They’re damp but should light enough to smoke. Do you have your tinderbox with you?” He started stripping himself of his armour, “As they come nearer, we light a fire on each side of the river, the smoke will be enough to confuse them. I’ll take the first boat, you take the second and as soon as we’re done we move on to the third. They’ll be dead before they see us coming.”

“We should try to arm some of the slaves as well,” Osferth said, but Finan shook his head.

“The chains will hamper their movements too much, best they stay down and out of the way.”

Osferth did not wish to know how Finan was so certain, but he accepted that the other man knew all too well what he was talking about. If they were doing this, and it seemed that he would be drawn into this regardless of what he said, then he knew the only way was to shut up and trust the other man’s lead. 

Finan found his own tinderbox in his pocket and held it above the water as he swam across the river to the other side, armour abandoned on the muddy bank. Osferth watched him with trepidation, the water was fast flowing and though they were at a bottleneck, it was still a long way across. If Finan got swept out to sea there would be nothing Osferth could do about it. When he got to the other side and disappeared into the reeds, Osferth breathed a sigh of relief.

The first sign that Finan had started his ambush was the smell of smoke drifting on the air. In haste, Osferth reached for his tinderbox and got out his flint and fire steel. With nowhere dry to place his tinder, he lit it in the box itself and waited a minute for it to properly catch before picking it up in a gloved hand and holding it to the reeds. Finan had been right, they were a little damp but they started smoking and it only took a gentle push of them against their neighbours to spread the fire. 

The smoke quickly became cloying, catching at the back of his throat and he waded further into the river to avoid it. He got himself into position huddled down in the water with a view of the boats, who were still rowing steadily towards them. Across the water, Finan was ducked down so that only his head was visible, a wet rag tied over his nose and mouth to protect from the smoke. Osferth searched his pockets for the same but he had nothing useful.

“What’s that up ahead?” one of the Norsemen shouted to the other boat. “Fog? Or smoke?”

“Smells like smoke,” another answered. “The summer has been hot but I’ve never seen wildfire in reeds before.”

The boats slowed with suspicion, a slaver called a halt to the rowing, though the current was still carrying them forward into their trap. Too impatient to wait, or too concerned it might fail, Finan started to swim quietly towards them. Osferth could still stand where he was, so although the thick mud caught at his feet, he too began to creep forward.

The smoke began so thick in the dimming light, that Osferth lost sight of Finan on the other side and he only knew he’d reached his target when there was a splash of water as he hauled himself into the boat, and then the sound of a body hitting the water. He really hoped that wasn’t Finan. He had such a bad feeling about this, that he almost abandoned the plan in order to check, but he knew if he did that now they would both die.

“We’re being attacked!” someone managed to shout but then the words turned to harsh gargling, as his throat was opened up.

It was enough for the next boat to start panicking, “We need to get through this smoke! Row you fucks!” and they did, straight towards Osferth.

Osferth hated boats, hated getting in and out of them specifically, all his clothes were wet and they dragged him down as he grasped the lip of the hull with both hands and tried to pull himself in. A hand snatched at his wrist and startled he almost let go, but then a face loomed out of the smoke and he saw a burly man with a deep gash on his face and a chain around his neck. The slave took a surprised look at Osferth and then hauled him into the boat.

The boat rocked as he was pulled in and the slavers knew immediately they too were under attack. Osferth unsheathed his sword and his seax, handing the dagger to the man who had helped him in, but it was impossible to see who he was attacking. He staggered towards the stern where the slavers had been with they’d been watching from above, and then suddenly a tattooed face looked large out of the ether and he struck before he had a chance to think. He rammed his blade into the man’s chest, pulled it free and swung it at the next figure he could see, praying it wasn’t an unfortunately placed slave. The Norseman cursing as his blade met flesh told him he’d acted wisely. 

And then suddenly, they were through the smoke and his vision cleared. There was one slaver left on his boat, stood at the stern, his sword raised and ready for battle. The slaves cowered in the bows, even the man who had been handed the seax. Finan had been right, the chains wouldn’t stretch long enough to allow them to attack.

“Just one of you? Fool!” The Norseman roared, but he looked up and something behind Osferth’s back had made him open and close his mouth like an indignant fish. It was enough of a distraction, and by some miracle, Osferth managed to keep his feet as he raced through the boat and swung his blade. The Norse recovered and blocked his blow with an axe, so Osferth used a trick Uhtred had taught him, sliding his blade up the side of the axe until the pommel got entangled with the axe head and he was able to twist and wrenching out of the man’s grip. Disarmed, the man bent to snatch a knife from his boot but Osferth arched his blade and slammed it down into the man’s neck, cutting his head clean off. Osferth was sprayed with blood as the head landed with a thud at his feet. The decapitated body fell slumped against the hull, causing the boat to rock and unbalance Osferth, landing him heavily on his arse in the bottom.

A cheer went up from the slaves as men thanked and congratulated him, but he was too busy staring at the head and the horror to take it all in.

He came back to his senses when an axe was thrown at him from the third and final boat. Instinctively he held up his arms and his sword to protect his face and it clattered off his vambraces but with a blow so sharp he thought it might have broken his forearm beneath.

The third ship had come through the smoke and reacted with fury as they saw the other two ships making a bid for freedom. The slaves on Osferth’s boat had turned towards the Welsh shore and were rowing frantically towards it after the last boat. Osferth felt almost as desperate for dry land, but then he noticed Finan swimming frantically towards the boat and knew he didn’t have the luxury.

“No, no! Row backwards, row towards them, we finish this!” 

There was a moment where he thought he was going to be ignored, they all stopped rowing and stared at him like they thought he was mad, or like maybe they were uncertain whether they’d just swapped one master for another, but then a big man at the front bellowed, “Backwards lads!” and they all started a clumsy effort back towards the last boat.

Finan reached the last boat first, clasped both hands over the gunwale but was spotted immediately. One of the slavers strode towards him and stamped viciously at his fingers causing him to lose his grip and sink back into the water. Osferth felt panic as he watched his friend’s head bob down beneath the wash that kicking at the side of the boat has caused, but as the boat rocked side to side in an attempt to right itself, Finan launched himself out of the water, and used the moment the hull was tipped towards him to haul himself up and in. The slaver who had just kicked him stood over him as he scrambled to get to his feet, so Osferth picked up the axe that had been thrown at him and he threw it back. Axe throwing had been a skill he’d been practising, but doing it on a moving boat to another moving boat was never part of his training. It sailed through the air alright been did little more than graze the slaver’s side with the shaft. It was enough of a distraction though for Finan to pull out his seax and slice through the tendons at the back of the man’s knee. He roared in pain but as his legs gave out and he crashed to his hands and knees, Finan silenced him by putting his seax through the man’s ear.

It was at that point that the efforts of the slaves were rewarded and the two boats crashed together. Braced for impact, Osferth managed to regain his balance quickly and climb from one boat to the next, clasping Finan by his outstretched hand and hauling him to his feet, a gouge knocked out of his shoulder but otherwise intact.

The last two slavers clearly re-evaluating their priorities and both decided to jump in the river and swim for shore. Despite his earlier words, Osferth was tempted to let them go, he had no desire to kill a fleeing man, but they’d already decided that could not be so. Finan threw himself back out of the boat, seax in hand, and crashed down on top of the nearest man, running him through and killing him quickly. The last man looked round in horror as he realised he wasn’t going to be given the luxury of escape and he tried to release the axe from his belt with clumsy fingers while Finan powered towards him with swift strokes. Not a strong swimmer, he struggled to keep his head above water as he released his weapon, and Finan got to him first. 

The Irishman raised his seax to plunge in down into the man but the man kicked out viciously at him and Finan doubled over and lost his advantage. Osferth pulled off his armour and jumped in after them. He swam as hard as he could. But his limbs were ungainly and despite the lessons Finan had given him he could hardly be called capable. It was difficult to see what was happening, amidst the splashing and entanglement of limbs. Someone was bleeding, the water starting to cloud with deep red, but it was difficult to see who. A desperate punch was thrown and crashed into Finan’s face and then suddenly he was being shoved deeply underwater.

Osferth reached them and wrapped an arm around the man’s neck and tried to pull him away. He kicked and thrashed but Osferth squeezed hard and then suddenly Finan burst free to the surface, spluttering and coughing, but not letting that stop him from throwing a punch and then pushing the man under the water. The pair of them held the man under while he thrashed, his attempts to escape was getting weaker and weaker. It was horrible, Osferth had never killed someone so slowly, so deliberately. But inches from his own face was Finan’s, blood trickling down his forehead from a cut hidden in his hair, his face set in a grimace as he struggled to finish it.

When the last of the man’s strength failed and he went limp, Finan held him under still to he started to sink. Only when the threat was over, did they realise that they had been swept a long way down the river, but Osferth’s boat had rowed after them.

They pulled up alongside them and reached out their oars to the two exhausted men. They reached out and grabbed at the oars with relief, but although they were pulled in towards the boat, it took a huge effort to haul themselves in and the chains on the slaves meant they could offer no further help but verbal encouragement.

Fear of being swept away gave him the push he needed and with an almighty effort, he pulled himself upwards, and then the slaves' hands were on him and hauling him in. He was pulled up and over the gunwale, scrambled to his knees and reached over to wrap a hand under Finan’s arm and pull him up. They landed together in the bottom of the boat, Finan’s head resting back on Osferth’s chest, his relieved laughter vibrating through the former monk’s body.

“God is good, you have saved us! We are forever in your debt,” the man who Osferth had handed his seax to said.

Osferth extricated himself from under Finan and got up to look for the key. He found it and unlocked the first man’s chains who nodded gratefully at him and then took on the responsibility of freeing the rest of the crew.

“Unfortunately, we have no silver to pay you. Our villages were burned when we were taken. We have nothing.”

Osferth looked down at Finan, cackling away to himself, slumped awkwardly in the bottom of the boat. “It was never about money, we are just glad to have saved you from a miserable fate.”

Finan looked up at him, sobering for a moment and nodded in agreement.

“God bless you boys, God bless you!”

Osferth grinned, buoyed by his brother's elation, their miraculous survival and the knowledge that they had done the world some good for a change, "You know, I think he might."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

There was no better feeling than having aching bones sink into a soft mattress, with a womanly body curled up to your side, Uhtred decided, as he carefully stroked the hair from Æthelflæd’s face. She snuggled deeper into his shoulder, wrapped her arm tighter across his ribs, he didn’t even care that the arm that held her to him had gone to sleep hours ago. He slept better with her than he had in many years, and it left him feeling like a refreshed twenty-year-old again, before all the battle wounds that had left him with lasting hurts. But this morning sleep had escaped him and he couldn’t quiet his worrying mind.

The cause of his worry were two of his closest friends. After having been away for close to a month, Osferth and Finan had come riding in the night before in good spirits. It was a relief to have them home and the night at the alehouse had been raucous and fun, with Finan buying an ale for everyone who had cause to grace the threshold. It was a pleasant change from the frustrated restlessness of before their trip and Finan was well-known for being reckless with his money, preferring to spend it on what he called ‘the craic’ than on nice things. So last night Uhtred had drunk with them and enjoyed their company without second thought, but this morning an unnamed concern started to creep in. 

They’d painted a picture of a completely uneventful journey, but Finan had favoured his left arm. When he was asked about it, he said that his horse had bolted and knocked him into a tree, but rather than make jibes at him, Osferth had kept his head down and stared at his ale. Perhaps that would have been the expected reaction years ago, but the Irishman had corrupted his young friend so much that he should have leapt at the chance to tease. Something had gone wrong, Uhtred was sure of it, and the knowledge that neither man wished to speak of it gnawed at him deeply.

He resolved to speak to them again in the sober light of day, Osferth first, if either, he would be the one to crack. But it could wait an hour or two, until the sun had risen and the beauty in his bed had given him his arm back.

He must have barely drifted back to sleep when there was a loud banging on the door. Æthelflæd woke with a start and a muttered curse, rolling off the edge of the bed and hiding beneath it. She was still married, though barely, and although the whole of Mercia had their suspicions about where she spent her nights, it would not do to have it confirmed.

“What is it?” Uhtred called grumpily, striding to the door and opening it completely naked.

Sihtric was stood outside and didn’t so much as blink at his Lord’s state of undress. Shame, Uhtred thought, he always enjoyed the horror-stricken faces of prudish Christians when he pulled that stunt.

“You’d best get dressed Lord, there are some Norse here to see you,” he peered around Uhtred into the seemingly empty room, “Good morning Lady Æthelflæd, apologies for the rude awakening.”

Uhtred gave his man a playful slap and allowed him into the small house as he went to get dressed. Æthelflæd appeared from under the bed sheepishly, “Good morning Sihtric.”

“What do these Norsemen want? Do you know them?” He started pulling on his breeches that had been discarded at the end of the bed the night before.

“I do not Lord, but they know me, or they know me as Kjartan’s bastard at least. They refused to tell me why they were here, but they looked angry.”

“Shit,” Uhtred pulled his boots on and slipped into a tunic. “I knew something was wrong, come let’s sort this out.”

Uhtred strode out of the house without a backwards glance at Æthelflæd, something he knew he was going to get chided for later. He stormed across the square to the Longhouse and straight into it, where a pair of rough, shaggy-haired men sat at the guest table in the centre of the room.

“Ah Uhtred Ragnarsson,” the larger one, with a mask of tattoos across his cheekbones and creeping up his temples stood. “The rumours about you have travelled all the way to the homeland. For such a killer of Danes, I thought you might be taller.”

“You insult me while a guest at my table,” he waved a hand at the mugs of ale and the stew and bread that had been placed in front of them, “if you are here to negotiate a matter, that is not the way to go about it.”

Uhtred strode past them to his chair at the head of the room, Sihtric following to stand beside him, quiet but stern, a show of strength against these men. He would not normally be so abrupt but they had begun it and he was tired and wary of their intentions.

“I am Ingvar and this is my cousin Gunnr.” 

Gunnr did not get up but instead carried on wolfing down the stew as though he had not eaten in an age. He had a nasty scar across his face that pulled his lip into a permanent sneer.

“We have heard many stories told in the Longhouse all the way in Stavanger. You are almost as famous as Jarl Ragnar himself. I commend you, for good or bad, a warrior wants renown but it makes it difficult when two of your men become thieves.”

“What?” Uhtred had been about to sit but he launched himself back to his feet. “Which men? You are surely mistaken.”

“You fight with an Irishman and a man of the Saxon God do you not? And don’t give me lies, I know that you do.”

“They are no thieves. They are good men,” Uhtred insisted. The thought of either Finan or Osferth stealing anything was downright laughable, they were far more likely to piss money away than take it. But then they had lied to him about Finan’s injury and he had been particularly generous with his silver the night before. Could he have stolen something? No. He would not believe it.

“Says you. That you kill Danes does not bother me, many a Dane has been killed by my sword, but then, I am not one. Why should I trust a man who turns against his own people and fights alongside Christian men?” Ingvar sneered at him, resting a hand on the head of his axe, not drawing it, but leaving no doubt that he would use it. Gunnr looked up and slurped his ale while staring at Uhtred with a narrowed glare.

“Ingvar, I think someone had lied to you. My men have no reason to steal. What do you believe they have taken?”

“Two nights ago, they were seen taking thirty slaves and killed ten of my men.”

Uhtred’s heart skipped a beat. Shit! Now that he could believe. And he felt the anger seething against them, knowing now they were slavers, he was sure Finan would have felt the same. “My men have a duty to protect Wessex and Mercia and their people. If you raid our lands they have a right, nay, a duty to defend it.”

“I have no concern with your lands. Our quarrel is with Wealas. It was Welshmen we were taking. They are usually your enemies too, are they not?”

“We have a peace.”

“If we came and burned your villages, would they come to your aid? I know enough of your politics to know this is unlikely.”

“What do you want?” 

“Compensation, and your Irishman’s head. I’ll be generous and let you keep the Saxon boy.”

“They are neither of them here, they are out scouting and are not expected back for some time.”

“Funny,” Gunnr spoke round a bite of bread. He had a voice like he was chewing gravel. “Our scouts tell us they got back here yesterday.”

Uhtred sighed but wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “What if I increase your compensation and you let me keep my Irishman?”

“Your Irishman is worth quite a bit more to us and you already owe us thirty. Just how many good strong men do you have in this tiny village?”

“No!” The door burst open then, and Finan, Osferth and Hild entered, all three armed though the abbess had not picked up a sword in years.

“Lord, you cannot do this,” Finan said.

“There is an army of raiders outside waiting to take the village,” Hild warned.

Fuck! Because his next thought had been to just kill them both and be done with it.

Gunnr laughed, “Scouting, my arse!”

“The men of this village have done nothing wrong, and I’ll not allow them to be punished for my sins,” Finan said, all eyes on him. He stood firmly as though he was expecting to have to fight. “We would not give you them and you would be forced to fight and lose yet more men. Take your compensation in silver and you can have me to do as you wish. Take my head if you want it, but I would be worth more to you as a thrall.”

“Finan, no!” Hild gasped quietly.

Uhtred stared at his friend, could feel his lip quiver at the choice before him. 

“Come on, Lord,” Finan urged. “It is the only way.”

Uhtred couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How had such a blissful morning ended with the world crashing down around them? He couldn’t believe Finan was suggesting such a thing, but he had never looked more serious. Uhtred was sure there had to be another way, but he couldn’t see it. Finan on the other hand looked certain that this really was the only way, and Uhtred realised he’d probably been thinking about this exact scenario since the moment he’d decided to intervene. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, “What is your price in silver?”

“A pound of silver per slave lost, and two for each of my men killed.”

“Slaves are worth half that,” Uhtred said, it would be hard to find enough for such a price. Despite it all, he felt a flickering of pride at the thought that Finan and Osferth had managed to take down ten of the bastards by themselves.

“Consider the extra for our inconvenience. If this is too much I am sure we can lower the price in exchange for your Saxon as well.”

Uhtred looked over at Osferth who was trying hard not to show his fear. “You cannot have him.”

“Then we are in agreement about the fifty pounds.”

Uhtred’s gaze locked with Finan’s, who gave him a firm nod. He unbuckled his sword and his seax and handed them to Hild, in preparation for the words that he knew Uhtred had to say. There was no anger in his expression, his hands were steady, unlike Hild who was so upset she nearly dropped the proffered weapons. His calm acceptance made it only a little easier, “Sihtric, Osferth, bring me fifty pounds of silver. If you have to take it from the villagers, let them know I will pay them back when I can.”

Osferth looked like he was going to protest but Sihtric took control, clasping him by the shoulder and forcing him out of the Longhouse. Hild looked like she couldn’t stay a moment longer and she too left.

“Lord, I’m so sorry,” Finan gasped once the others had gone.

Ignoring the two slavers in his hall, Uhtred hurried forward and wrapped the other man in an embrace.

“Osferth warned me there’d be consequences and I didn’t listen. Don’t be harsh with him, Lord. He was only there to make sure I didn’t get myself killed.”

“Keep yourself alive Finan, we’ll find a way to get you back,” he whispered in his ear.

Finan shook his head, “Do not risk any more lives for mine. As it stands, I do not regret it, but I will if I get people killed.”

Uhtred felt the tears wanting to spill out, but Finan was calm. He always was, Uhtred realised, he could be thrown into a rage or a sulk better than Uhtred himself at times, but through all the worst moments in Uhtred’s adult life, Finan had been there with a firm embrace and a listening ear, and he was doing it again now, giving strength to the older man despite the need for it to be the other way around.

“Lord,” Sihtric’s head appeared around the door. The quiet man did not have to say anything further, the saddened look on his face said it all.

“Amazing how quickly such a sum can be found given the right motivation,” Gunnr said as he stood.

“Bring it in,” Uhtred ordered.

“No, let’s do this outside. The square is where punishments usually take place is it not? So the people can see,” Ingvar said.

Uhtred tried not to look as defeated as he felt as he strode out to the steps of the Longhouse with Finan quietly by his side, though it would have been easier to march to his own death.

Sihtric and Osferth were stood on either side of a chest that had been filled with silver. Most of it was coins, but he recognised a set of silver candlesticks from the church, Hild’s small silver cross, and a beautiful necklace that Uhtred recognised as belonging to Æthelflæd. He looked across the square to his house and saw her worried face watching from behind the window curtain.

The majority of the village had been drawn by the commotion, and they all watched with anticipation and morbid curiosity. No doubt the rumours of what was happening had already spread and beyond the walls the sounds of marauders, laughing and banging their weapons against their shields, struck fear into everyone inside.

“Good people of Wessex,” Ingvar started as though the crowd was for him. “You should be grateful to your Lord today because he has saved all your hides.”

He looked over at Uhtred but Uhtred had nothing to say.

“Kneel Irishman,” Ingvar commanded.

Uhtred felt sick. He had hoped to have more time to come up with a plan. Finan picked at the cross around his neck and placed it between his lips, but that was the only sign of his nerves as he got to his knees at the top of the steps and stared straight ahead, ignoring the gasps of horror and the tears on Osferth’s face. Sihtric’s wife Ealhswith was stood in the back of the crowd, the kids held to her skirts. As soon as she realised what was happening, she turned and pulled them away. Young Sihtric resisted, but she tugged at his arm a little too firmly and perhaps realising she was right to move him away, he allowed himself to be taken home.

Ingvar smirked and drew his sword. Uhtred wanted nothing more than to wrestle it off him and wipe that smirk off his face with the tip of the blade, but the worried faces of his people and the men at his gates made him hold fast. He just hoped instead that the blade was sharp enough for this to be over quickly. Ingvar pulled it up above his head and then swung. Uhtred closed his eyes.

But it was laughter he heard next, not the rolling of heads, Uhtred opened his eyes to see Ingvar had stopped, the blade just resting on Finan’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood across his skin but going no deeper.

“I’m impressed,” Ingvar laughed, pleased with himself. “Not a flinch. You’re right, you will be worth more as a slave. Stand up Irishman, you’re coming with us.”

Uhtred breathed a shuddering sigh of relief. Finan got to his feet, trembling just a little with the rush of fear, but otherwise holding together better than Uhtred felt.

“Let two of my men in to carry this,” Gunnr ordered, and Sihtric did as he commanded. “If you have left us short we will be back to take the rest. After we have taken it from your friend of course.”

“It’s all there,” Sihtric promised.

Ingvar smiled, “I have no doubt. Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you Lord Uhtred. In future, stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”

Finan turned to look at Uhtred and gave him a nod of goodbye and then he walked head held high to his fate. At the gate, he was met by two men who bound his wrists together and secured a chain around his neck. A cart approached and he was encouraged to get in before they hitched him to it with the neck chain to prevent his escape. He sat in the back of the cart, legs dangling casually over the side and kept Uhtred’s gaze until he was away and out of sight.

Uhtred waited until he could no longer be seen by the Norsemen but then he sank to the step at the top of the Longhouse. He flinched when a hand rested on his shoulder but it was just Hild, “You had no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Uhtred said bitterly, “and I am not sure I’ve made the right one.”


End file.
